


Between the Bars

by robotfvckers



Series: Halloween Strawpoll Prompts [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, M/M, Sort Of, Stockholm Syndrome, They are both assholes, Vampires, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Akande collects mythical creatures, though none as fine or formidable as one Hanzo Shimada.





	Between the Bars

****Akande is a man of discipline. He wakes at four o’clock every morning, exercises before the sun crests the horizon, eats a meticulously portioned meal while drinking a single cup of black ospina coffee. He arrives at the office at 7:30, nods to his secretary before reviewing emails, meeting and greeting important people, intimidating those who cross him, courting those who could be of use. He attends sponsorship deals, commentates fighting tournaments, appears at press tours, takes pictures with fans.

He finishes work at the same time every day if he can, remembering his mother’s words: _work is something you must do, but do not forget the world outside of it._

This is how Akande develops (and justifies) his hobby. He is a man of tastes, groomed for it, though he cares little for the flashy displays and baubles of his peers. He prefers something more private but no less decadent: his singular indulgence.

His newest acquisition is his most extravagant, the first piece to his collection in several months, a reward to himself for a successful talon operation, executed secretly and with precision that makes him grin.

He deftly works his tie from his throat before activating the scanner mounted beside a large, unadorned door on the far wall of his living room. Though the room’s decor does not emphasize it, it remains a not so secret door that leads to secrets. It thrills him, to think someone could stumble within, realize what sort of collection he owns, yet none, visitor or servant, have ever dared, would not be able to without proper clearance. Still, the fantasy lingers, vivid in his mind.

Akande moves leisurely down the black marble hallway, bracketed by spacious cells crafted with translucent, reinforced polymer of his own design. He gives each a perfunctory look, remembering the acquisitions as he passes. Most of his collection are sentient in some way or another, staring with dull, hungry eyes, but his newest addition is different.

He reaches the end of the hallway, halting for a security scan before entering another door. The space opens into a handful of cells, well furnished and grand; he did not wish for his sapient acquisitions to be uncomfortable. Akande passes the vacant chambers, each crafted for their future residents. Closest to completion is the fox’s room, decorated in stark whites and reds, littered with plush, satin pillows for meditation, a bookshelf with ancient works which he could study at leisure. How interesting it would be, to wax philosophical with an ancient capricious one who bound himself to the ninefold path of the Iris.

His thoughts, however, fix upon the figure currently seated in seiza in the center of his only occupied cell, head tilted down and eyes shut. The creature is beautiful, his black hair kissed with gray, and high, elegant cheekbones, the musculature of his body more sculpted and pleasing than the opponents he faced in the ring. His tattoo is even more breathtaking in person, the details so intricate they seem to shiver along his skin as he breathes, and perhaps it may, the information on Shimada and their dragons are lacking. Akande will have all the time he needs to ask.

Hanzo’s nose twitches. It is the only acknowledgement Akande receives as he stops in front of his cell. The space is decorated with a replica of the tapestry that hangs within Shimada castle, a lacquered ebony coffin, padded with egyptian cotton and silks that rest above a single layer of Shimada soil. As comfortable as a coffin could be.

“I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Hanzo Shimada. I hope the accommodations are to your liking.”

Hanzo opens his eyes. Instead of violent red, they are a deep brown, dark and wary.

“You forfeit your life when you took me, human.”

Akande laughs.

“Perhaps, though all will return to the earth. Even you.”

Hanzo bristles. A proud one, and why not? Powerful and pure, from an ancient bloodline, trained to kill as a child, decades before the ceremony that would keep him youthful and vicious forever. Well, not forever, but long enough; Akande did not believe in eternities.

“Am I to be your amusement?” Hanzo asks with a terse grunt. He looks so still, but Akande’s eyes find the veins that bulge in his arms and throat, his fists clenched in his lap.

“For a time.” Akande shrugs his shoulders. “I have no delusions that I will keep such a mighty one trapped indefinitely. Though is it not nice, to know you are free of your pursuers, can sleep in comfortable quarters? You have been on the run for a very long time, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo snaps his gaze to Akande’s, eyes ringed in crimson, and a chill courses along his spine: the eyes of a killer.

“That will not work on me.” Akande taps his temple, amusement on his tongue. “These contacts block your glamour, though even with them I can feel your malevolence. Quite splendid.”

Akande’s holowatch pings, and he glances down to read the incoming message.

“You are weary, and I fear I have annoyed you unnecessarily. Please rest while I take care of other business. If we are lucky, perhaps you will have companions very soon.”

Akande turns to leave, and with each step he feels Hanzo’s eyes on his back, gooseflesh breaking along his neck, never subsiding until the door closes between them.

* * *

He makes the visits to Hanzo’s chambers a part of his routine. Akande refuses to let work interfere with proper care of his collection, and so he brings him breakfast each night.

Hanzo rarely seems to move, though Akande knows before his arrival Hanzo performs his exercise, precise and terrifying to behold. Akande reviews the footage whenever he is bored, enraptured by the too fast motions of one so humanoid.

“You do not enjoy feeding from humans, though your clan does not have similar reservations.”

Akande reclines in a chair outside of Hanzo’s cell after sliding him his meal: blood in a tall glass, steam rising from its surface, along with a low, ornate bowl filled with dark liquid, gelatinous cubes buoyant within the broth.  

Hanzo does not rush to the food, though he does not refuse it anymore. He sniffs the drink, sips it beneath Akande’s amused gaze. He leaves the soup untouched as he takes a gulp from the glass, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his beard. Akande is not surprised: Hanzo rarely eats any of his stranger, blood-based cuisine.

“The hunt is a base pursuit. I care little for it.” Hanzo offers between sips, pointedly ignoring Akande’s looks even though his body is angled towards him.

Hanzo is lonely, Akande realizes. He wonders how much Hanzo looks forward to these interactions each day.

“Yet it was not always so. You partook in your younger days.”

“You presume much.”

Akande lets the silence bloom. It is his way, patient. A few months ago, Hazo might have let it hang, stewing in his too-human emotions.

“The last fresh blood upon my lips was my younger brother’s. I slew him with my own hands.”

The pieces fall into place as Akande remembers the footage of Hanzo’s earlier days, blood-smeared and wild, and the vampire before him, contained, with a monster’s energy trapped beneath his skin.

“You are sure of this?” Akande murmurs after he taps a few words into his watch, turning his full attention towards Hanzo. “I have recently come into an alliance with someone quite informed. She seems to think your brother may yet live.”

“Do not lie to me.” Hanzo growls, angry like he hasn’t been since the early days of his containment. The familiar trill bubbles within Akande, and he revels in the telltale excitement of such ire directed towards him.

“Your sparrow could sing, even now. Shall I look into it? I suppose a younger brother would be easier to catch than his elder.” Akande laughs as Hanzo glowers. “Fear not, I will leave him be. I only wish to bring you peace, Hanzo.”

“This will not come without price.” Hanzo says, setting his glass down hard enough to rattle the china. Akande does not miss how his fingers tremble. Anger, or perhaps quiet, desperate hope.

“Name it.”

* * *

It is the first time Akande enters Hanzo’s cell. They exist on even footing: he has not starved Hanzo, has done nothing to weaken him. He knows that the vampire can move within the time of a blink, snap his neck if he so chooses, but he also knows Hanzo is honorable.

They bow before they meet each other with fists and kicks. Hanzo is faster by far, but Akande’s eyes are quick, and his synthetic arm lends advantage in blocking blows that would down a normal opponent.

Neither lasts long, such powerful forces explode, bright and grand, before extinguishing in an instant.

They fall to the floor in a mass of bodies, Hanzo pinning Akande’s flesh arm above his head, growl vibrating from his rib cage, incisors grown long and white, glinting in the relative gloom. Flecks of spit catch against Akande’s cheek, and he chuckles, angles his head to the side to expose the thick jut of his neck, blood quickened beneath sweat slick skin.

“Do it.” He whispers.

And only then does Hanzo hesitate, lessens his grip, and it’s the time Akande needs to twist his synthetic fingers against Hanzo’s scalp, force his lips flush against flesh. Hanzo’s growl feels altogether different against his skin, yet still he does not fear, even at the flash of pain as fangs break his skin and sink deep.

The first pull of blood is euphoric; colors burst in front of his eyes, more vivid than he could dream, and he holds Hanzo down as he pulls his life from him, pleasure aching from his wound, curling his toes, skin tingling and too sensitive all at once.

Hanzo grinds his hips once, and with a crazed grin Akande realizes Hanzo’s just as hard, as wanting as him. He wiggles his gently pinned arm from beneath Hanzo’s grip and clasps it low on his back, beckoning the vampire closer as he drinks. The angle is bad, and Hanzo will hardly move, too focused on claiming the fresh blood he has not tasted in years, crazed for it.

“H-hanzo.” Akande tries, when his vision doubles and his strength begins to leave him. He tugs Hanzo’s hair, harder and harder, until he’s sure it will tear, but finally the teeth recede. Akande hisses as a hot tongue laps against the wound.

“You are a fool.” Hanzo’s voice is unrecognizable, thrumming, near subharmonic with its intensity.

Akande exhales in a facsimile of a laugh, grasps Hanzo’s narrow, strong hips and drags his lower body against his. Their clothed cocks catch, and Hanzo dips back into Akande’s vision, sclera blackened and eyes pure crimson. His long tongue slips from between his lips to catch at the mess upon them.

“Ah.” Breathlessly. “So you do feel fear.”

“Only that you would stop now.”

Hanzo finds his zipper easily, and perhaps he means to inspire true fear when he seals his lips around Akande’s cock, hard and throbbing by the time Hanzo mouths at it.

“Watch your teeth.”

Hanzo would not give up the chance to see his brother, but this does not account for how his eyelashes flutter, nor how his cheeks hollow and rouge, how his cock tents his pants.

Information does not drive Hanzo’s mouth quicker, has him groaning, drooling when he works Akande’s cock down his throat and holds. He paws weakly between his own thighs as Akande watches, curious and drowsy. He does not direct Hanzo, lets the creature grow wild on his own, at first tentative before the sounds of wet, hard suckling and gasping paint the air. It is the power, the absolute control he has over this beautiful creature that drags him lazily towards orgasm, how inexperienced Hanzo is, but how much he tries, his other hand stroking where his mouth cannot reach. His orgasm catches him by surprise; Akande presses the vampire’s head down as the first gush surges past Hanzo’s lips.

“Drink it.”

The vampire surprises him, does not even choke as he swallows around him, throat massaging his cock. In his warm haze, Hanzo knicks him, tongue surging at the trickle of blood. He withdraws with a soft pop, gasping, nuzzling, sucking the tender wound near the base of Akande’s cock. Hanzo trembles and presses his thighs together, his voice scratchy, low and guttural.

Akande tugs Hanzo up his body, and Hanzo does not resist, eyes blown and mouth swollen and smeared, settling his knees on either side of his head.

“Come.” Akande tugs at the ties of his pants. “Let us see what a mess I’ve made of you.”


End file.
